The Drow's Tale
by mousestalker
Summary: Eilestraee Surana is not from Thedas. What is one lone drow going to do when confronted with the Blight, especially when Lolth isn't returning her calls?
1. Chapter 1

My true name is Faeryl Dyrr of House Kilsek of the city of Fanaedar. Here in this strange land I am known as Eilestraee Surana of the Circle of Magi. I am writing this journal in my native tongue. I have met no one who knows of my people or speaks our language. That should be precaution enough.

I adopted my name when I first came here. We had been fighting a small party of surfacers. I was on my first assignment as a full priestess of our Mistress. I cast a spell. One of the surfacers cast a spell, there was a flash and I was on this world. Instead of a full battle in a tunnel, I was on the surface and two fully armed and armoured human men were running towards me. I called upon our Goddess' power and saw a puny arc of light shoot into the ground in front of me. I could no longer feel her presence. All was silent.

One of the men saw the bolt of light, spread his arms, shouted something and I was unconscious.

When I awoke they gabbled at me in their barbarous tongue. I tried to teach them respect only to find I was bound with a sword to my throat. Adopting a more respectful mien, I began deceiving them. After an inordinately long time they figured out we did not speak any languages in common. One of them deliberately inquired by signs who I was. Not knowing the situation I claimed the identity of my silent Mistress's errant daughter, Eilestraee.

The men spoke amongst themselves and motioned me to come with them. I walked, bound and somewhat disheartened to a camp which had many other human men. None of them were really afraid of me. None showed anything other than the usual wariness one displays towards strangers. Then I saw the moons and knew I was very far indeed from home.

Luckily my family taught me well and I maintained a constant veil of deceit as I learned more about my new world. I was destined for a place where magic was taught. That suited me well. If my clerical powers were gone, then the arcane arts were the next best thing. If Lolth, and I did finally begin to dare name her in my thoughts, were absent then I literally had nothing and no one to bound me. The men's god, and they had only one, was apparently having a millenial long snit. I acted contrary to my nature and was very meek and compliant as we walked to this Circle.

The sun rose in the morning. I almost displayed my inward terror, but I suffered none of the ill effects I would have at home. I relaxed and began to make my plans. I would learn all I could of magic. I would learn even more about the power structure of this place and I would seize both for my own purposes.

The four long years in the Circle are best skipped over. I learned the native language. I learned their peculiar and barbaric customs. I learned far more about their absentee god than anyone ever should. The mages were watched and confined. I did not dare keep a journal, even in a language no one could read lest I be accused of practising forbidden blood magic. Needless to say I learned as much forbidden lore as was possible.

When a certain human I had cultivated, Jowan, came to me with an idiotic plot to escape, I agreed to help him. Betraying him to the head magician would only make me more secure in the narrow confines of mage society. Also, seeing the fool's plan unfold would give me some idea of what constituted security for when I made my own escape. Jowan and his wench were apprehended and all seemed according to plan when the minion surprised us all by showing some blood magic.

I was quite shaken by this. I hadn't really delved too much into it. Blood magic relies on the caster's own blood. I didn't see the need to weaken myself, so I didn't study it. But it also allows the caster to control others. That was a worthy kind of magic indeed. Later I learned that you need not use your own blood. But I did not know that at the time. I resolved to learn more about this school of magic.

After some simplistic political jockeying, I secured a position as a Grey Warden and so left the tower. Our destination was where the human king of this land was located, so I determined to remain with the older human fool who recruited me. Once at this Ostagar, I would subtly begin to entrap the king and so move into the inner power circles.


	2. Chapter 2

Ostagar

The human king is an idiot. Mother told me of well intentioned fools, but I always assumed they were mythical figures like loyal elves or drunken dwarves. Yet there he stood in all his amiable idiotic glory. I remembered my nursery tales and strove mightily to put him at ease. The heroine in the story is always polite and agreeable until she sleeps with him then poisons him. Camp rumour has it that Cailan is married. With any luck she's flexible. Ensnaring both partners in a royal couple was always the goal in the old stories.

Reading back on this, I can hardly believe myself. The king is either not an idiot and pretends to be so, or he is an idiot and is kept that way by those who really pull the strings. Either way, I need more information. Honestly, this world is starting to get to me. Fairy stories come to life, indeed.

The Darkspawn sound promising, they have serious potential. Semi mindless minions who poison everything they come into contact? What's not to love? Dig and line a pit, toss some of the short ones down there and prisoner interrogation and disposal become a snap. Apparently most humans who contact them die slowly. Some have their brains turned to mush. Limitless entertainment right there. If I can discover some way to train them, then they are even better. These genlocks sound like multipurpose potential slaves. And the kicker is that Gray Wardens know some way to handle them without getting ill themselves. I thought getting out of the Tower was a good reason to 'volunteer'. Beholders couldn't keep me out of this Joining. I _need_ pet darkspawn.

-

Okay, I didn't expect the Joining to work that way. I see the logic. A lot of antidotes are based upon the poison itself. But being trapped there with a templar just out of eye sight meant I couldn't back out or try later. I did survive, so I can now detect darkspawn and survive contact with them. When I passed out (and I am not happy about being unconscious and defenseless) I dreamed of a greyish dragon. This is apparently the archdemon. Have I mentioned how much I hate this world? The head of this darkspawn horde is apparently a muddy coloured blighted dragon.

After the poison drinking, I was summoned with the old fool to a 'strategy meeting'. Most of it was the sort of strategy fools come up with. Battles are for men and minions. Rulers lead from behind, in safety. I'm starting to believe that this Anora really does run the country. It would certainly be a sensible arrangement. Let the idiot run about in a shiny suit until he gets killed, then recruit another man for his place. My part in the battle plan only reinforces my suspicions in that regard. The templar and I are to go light a fire at the top of a tower. That the templar bears a striking resemblance to the current king is of course a complete coincidence. The man whined about his role. I like it. We should have a lovely view of the battle and thus have plenty of time to run if it goes wrong.

-

I do not like this world. The idiot humans allowed their foe to over run a major fortification in their rear. We had to fight our way through it. The three human soldiers made me accompany them to the top, even though I assured them my magic grew more powerful with distance. And there is no talking with darkspawn. They smell bad and they grunt. Some of them appear out of nowhere, but I'm not complaining about that. The one thing this world does do well is stealth. If I can only figure out some way to recruit the darkspawn, I'd have poisonous, vanishing guards and who wouldn't want that?

Of course there was a really large darkspawn at the top. They call them ogres, which is a bit of a misnomer, but that's this idiot world all over. We killed it. We lit the beacon. Half of the army fled, which was sensible. The other half acted foolishly and died.

We were rescued by a {_the paper is torn here_}


	3. Chapter 3

{_The journal resumes mid sentence_}  
>her daughter Morrigan. Morrigan at first blush appeared to be one of the rarest of all creatures, a sensible human. Her opinions made sense. She was distressingly honest, but her heart was in the right place. My respect for her mother increased after each conversation we had.<p>

I had some bad news tonight. I actually allowed my true emotions to show and I am heartily ashamed. The blond fool told me I would not live longer than thirty years. This is unacceptable. I will do research. I will discover what the taint is. I will master it and use it to extend my life and to master others.

On Morrigan's advice we journeyed to some sort of squalid little village over run with refugees. My experience with surface humans taught me that they would not do anything practical with the influx of labour. A drow ruler confronted with labourers fleeing into her domain would of course enslave them and use them to strengthen the fortifications. If worse came to worse they would serve as battle fodder and an emergency food supply. Instead the local ruler fled and the fools milled around like queenless termites.

Here we found out the queen's father had seized power and we were outlaws. That clarified things nicely. It's always a help when your enemies declare themselves openly. We also acquired the services of a large man with an attractive complexion as well as a former spy. The large man held the rank of 'Sten' in his army. He held his duty highly, so enlisting him was an excellent idea. That he is pleasant to look at is no small thing. The spy had fallen into the pretense of extreme devotion. I humoured her. Our stay in the hovel infested slum was rather dull. What fools attacked us did so openly and died swiftly.

Loathsome did reinforce something I already knew. Money was going to be needed for my plans. I'm not proud of what I did to get it (making poultices, really!) but it was an unpleasant necessity. The drudgery was enlivened by the one sensible man who wanted poisons. I seriously thought about recruiting him, but on reflection he was probably too old.

Our chores done we headed off back to the Circle.

-

On the way there we encountered a merchant who had a golem's control rod. A short side trip later and I had a golem as a minion. Its attitude, like Morrigan's, is decidedly pragmatic and practical. A human merchant named Levi wandered into our camp. A short side trip later and I now have my own fortress. The resident mage is a genuine delight. He's conducting some very interesting research. I feel very much better about being a Grey Warden.

-

We discovered the ferry service was discontinued when we arrived at the docks. I do like my dog. He has a brute's loyalty and he guards me when I sleep. When he dies, his head will occupy a place of honour at my gates.

Sten proved effective at securing passage. I dismissed my companions and went to the Tower alone. Gloating should never be shared with people who are unaware of your true nature. As expected, Greagoir had bungled things. I had just learned a lovely new spell, Mana Clash. The Tower gave me a lot of practice with it. It didn't work on the templars, but I killed all the mages, including that pestilential Wynne. Now no one is left who knows me. I am free to reinvent myself as a hero. One to be followed. And so I will subvert the Queen and rule this country. Or the bits I want at least.

Journal, I'm at a quandary here. I could head for the Capitol and act directly. I could try to contact the forest elves. Judging from everyone else, they would merely regard me as another of their kind, having no knowledge of the Drow. But the hatred for surface elves still burns hot within me and so that may be best left for later. I could seek this noble acquaintance of Alistair's. However that sounds lethally dull. When I get bored, I get poisonous, literally. That's probably not a good idea. My people have never gotten along with the pink dwarves. But we have two followers of that variety and they seem mostly avaricious. Avarice I can handle. I'm torn between the direct approach of attacking Loghain or heading underground. I had such a good time at the Circle. Ozammar would be yet more indulgence. Time for bed. I'll decide in the morning. What I really need is a bedmate, but none of the ones in the camp are really suitable, even if the Sten is very good looking.


	4. Chapter 4

Orzammar

In the end, we went to Orzammar. There's every chance we'll all die on this mad quest (Did I mention drow generally don't do quests? Quests are for lesser races) and I wanted to get some pleasure before I snuffed it on this alien world. Orzammar was everything I hoped for and more. We had to fight Loghain's idiot ambassador and his bodyguards before we even entered the city. It was like being back home. I need to back up a bit.

The dwarves had closed their doors for some religious reason. As a result a squalid little tent city of merchants sprang up outside their gates. It had almost everything a proper city needs, paid thugs of various sorts, bounty hunters, inept ambassadors, weasely, greasy merchants and rumour mongers. After we slew Unbent (yes, that probably isn't his name. Don't really care, he's dead), we entered the city. Orzammar is just the sort of place the dwarves back home would build. If the Moria Construction Company is here, they might know a way for me to get home. Or recruit reinforcements.

After leaving the room of overcompensating statues we witnessed a political murder. It was a faction fight between the two contenders for the throne, Lord Harrible and Prince Baleful. Journal, I was giddy. It was like being home again. Bailwire's followers killed a Hairmutt leader and then everyone fled. My pet elf made a very valid point about the constancy of each leader's followers. Blabla clearly had the more dedicated crew. I made a mental note to pay more attention to Zevthingy. I may even have to learn his name. The fight did solidify my decision about whom to back. A quick discussion with their managers confirmed my choice. The prince's guy wanted me to pass some forged documents onto the lord's supporters and get them to reconsider. It was a good plan, if a bit crude, and my respect for him grew. The prince was probably the favourite. Plus, when Leliana robbed him, she wound up with a great shield. We're starting to get some really nice things.

The lord's guy wanted us to convince some of his own thugs, including a relation, to fight for him. These guys were so going down. I thought about working the two factions and doing all the errands for both, but outsiders in a close environment could easily be snuffed by a temporary alliance. Instead, I chose and ran with my choice. The prince was the stronger candidate, so he really didn't need outside help. The lord guy was clearly doomed unless someone stepped in. If he did become king, he'd be a weak king. You never want a strong ruler for a puppet. You want someone dependent upon you. Hallowseve was clearly the right dwarf for the job.

I won the fighting matches solo and walked away with a really nice set of rings. There's a spell, crushing prison, that is eminently satisfactory. We cleared the underground of a fair amount of darkspawn. We found out where they come from. If I can ever figure out a way to control them, it will be so awesome. I'll never execute a single one of my rivals, just turn her over to my tainted minions and she in turn will make more of them. What was distressing was my continued inability to communicate with this world's giant spiders. It's not that we don't speak the same language, it's that they don't talk at all. I'd like to think it's the taint, but we've encountered untainted spiders and I couldn't hear them either. So much of this world is just wrong.

In the end, we did the right thing, which is really weird, and obtained the golems for Oghren's ex-wife. Oghren is a fat, smelly, drunk dwarf fighter who has joined our cause. My plan for handling him is simple, any time he balks, ply him with some more liquor. Whether his liver melts or he dies in battle, either way I'll use him til he drops. Oh, and most importantly, I learned how to cast spells and still wear armour! I've felt hideously vulnerable since the templars took my armour away when I first arrived. Not any more!

Once the dwarves were serving my puppet, we took some time out. I read this fascinating black book I had found in the Tower. It was ever so tempting, dealing with life preservation by soul transference. but it turned out that's only practicable when the caster is merged with a demon. I'm sticking with blood magic for life extension. My mother warned me, and rightly so, against giving up pieces of your soul. 'Sharing is undrowlike', she used to say. In the end, I gave the book to Morrigan. Which was an excellent decision, even if it was impromptu.

My favourite mage had a very entertaining meltdown right in camp. Apparently the book was Flemeth's originally. Morrigan says that the transference method was how Flemeth stayed alive all this time. Raising a daughter to be the vessel of your soul when your aged is something I can respect. Morrigan asked me to kill Flemeth and not take Morrigan with me when I did it. I could not refuse her.

After a pleasurable time looting the old battle site at Ostagar, I left my minions at our camp and went to have a chat with Flemeth, alone.

I received the shock of my life. I hid my reaction, I think, but I am shaken to the core.

_Flemeth spoke to me in my native tongue_. My brains seized up. I may have gabbled a bit. In the end we chatted some and she let me have her spell book. I read it quickly and turned it over to Morrigan.

Flemeth, when you read this, know this, I hold you in almost the same high regard I hold my own mother.

{Written in another hand is the word: _Touching_}

I have a lot to think over before we turn to our next task.


	5. Chapter 5

Haven

After Flemeth's little surprise my delightful chat with Flemeth, I thought some mountain air would do us all some good. My companions were looking a little tired and peaked after Orzammar, so a side trip would help them out. We had a lead on a dragon worshipping cult (the very idea of which should demonstrate just how idiotic the people of this world are). My bed elf has proved to be quite talented. And we have some interests in common. He likes poisons! Journal, I'm thinking I may have found a potential sire for my children. He has decent stamina, knowledge of important things, flexible loyalties and has suicidal tendencies. If he were only darker and had lighter hair, he'd be almost perfect. However, those are only surface qualities. He has admirable inner virtues.

I'm not entirely sure how reproduction works here. Back home we had any number of spells to ease childbearing and childbirth. The problem is that all of those came from Lolth, who is notably not present here. I want children very badly. They are the only creatures you can be confident of manipulating safely. Strangers may surprise you, but children never will. You always know exactly what strings to pull with sons. You always know your daughters are plotting against you. You know exactly how their minds work because, of course, you trained them. If I had six or seven sons and an equal number of daughters, I'd be well on my way to ruling this squalid little world.

So, on top of my other chores, I'm having to make inquiries. Midwife is not a high status occupation here, so I'm talking to woefully ignorant peasants. And I may have erred in cleansing the Circle. There simply aren't a lot of mages left. Most Circle mages learned the fireball spell and called it a day. Even before I cleansed the Circle, there weren't many who were healers. Oh well, live and learn. Being Flemeth's daughter, Morrigan may know something. I need to be careful discussing this with her though.

At Hovel, the Sten challenged my leadership. Apparently his people have dominance fights. They really are like our menfolk in that regard. I froze him while he was bellowing, then shattered him. End of fight. More to the point, these villagers use blood magic! The things you learn about people. One minute you think you're walking through a collection of huts and the next minute you learn that the human sheep have some civilization and learning in them. A young boy taught me a very funny poem. Such quaint folk customs they have here.

=======

The chantry geezer, Brother Genitals, showed me how to open the big door. As though I couldn't have figured that out. His dying was amusing. For all their practising interesting magic, the people here are pretty weak. They did have some nice stuff. Their leader, whose name totally eludes me, gabbled something about blood and dragons and forbidden lore. I killed him and his two mage slaves. I had one of those moments afterwards when I realized I should have saved one for questioning. I simply refuse to go through labour as a peasant. Oh well, perhaps there will be more mages, later.

About the dragon itself, what can I say but I am very, very disappointed. It didn't speak. It wasn't especially bright. It didn't change forms. And worst of all, it was plaid. And not an exciting plaid with bright colours, but the standard muddy earth tones I've come to expect here. The one thing I know is that this world was designed by someone with no sense of style whatsoever. Plaid dragons, really? Is that really necessary? Sometimes I could just scream.

The dragon did have some decent loot. Afterwards, we took a little walk to a ruined temple thingy. I had Oghren with me for the dragon fight. He pointed out how much lyrium was in the building stones. There was a ghost guy. He grilled my companions and I learned some interesting things about them. I love guilt. I don't have it myself, but it makes dealing with lesser creatures so much easier. When he came to me, the guardian just held his head as though he had a headache. After he recovered, we got to answer riddles, deal with dopplegangers and solve a puzzle. In the end, I got some magic dust out of an urn.

Not a bad little mountain vacation. Best of all, my little redheaded spy holds me in a higher regard. I may breed her with the Sten.


	6. Chapter 6

{_At least one page is missing here_}  
>were pathetic and repetitive but I did get to practice my spell combinations. I do not know if magic works the same back home, being a cleric I never needed to study the lesser sources of power, but if it does, then combiners of spells bear watching. Watching your enemies fall down and then shocked to death never fails to amuse.<p>

After our shopping expedition to the capitol it was time to pay my surface cousins a visit. I had heard that the elves of this world were degraded but the rumour did not prepare me for the reality. They live in wagons made of sticks hauled by dung excreting albino deer. Almost at once I was asked for advice about them and I gave honest counsel and recommended the beast be put down. If nothing else, this emaciated band of losers would have a decent dinner. I was then told they do not eat friends.

Journal, my heart broke. I was willing to accept that this lot were ignorant barbarians, but to be reduced to claiming parasite ridden herbivores as friends, I just wanted to weep. Not having come from a barbarous background, my people's training held and I resolved to help them. Their leader, Zadsack, apparently needed a werewolf's heart to cure his hunters from a dread curse. It was entirely too sad. Here these people were sucking up to walking fertilizer factories when there was a perfectly good race of werewolves just begging for guidance. The Danish elves had their priorities seriously out of alignment.

Before I left to find the leader of the wolves, I did have an amusing evening. One elf who was even more pathetic than the rest, which really defied all belief, claimed that the girl of his dreams would not bed him as long as he didn't have a pelt. Journal, my heart was moved. Even though he looked as sad as he sounded, I bedded him. Those thigh exercises are always worth doing. After an hour or so of almost pleasure, I left the sack and proceeded to seduce the girl. She was a delight. Their expressions when each learned what the other had been up to were simply priceless. His expression the next day when I returned from the forest the next day with an armful of pelts and in a loud, clear, ringing voice told him to 'pick one' was even funnier. The looks his tribe mates gave him were funniest of all.

After entirely too much side business I finally made it to the leader of the pack. Where I learned to my companions' amazement and not mine, that Zafdoodle had misled us. I forged an eternal alliance with the werewolves and we proceeded to improve the breeding stock of this world's elves immeasurably. This side trip had proved to be far more fun that I originally thought. There are apparently other packs of these Dada elves infesting the continent. With any luck I'll be able to repeat this week's fun.

I forgot to mention that Zebrun is apparently half wood elf. I'm rethinking the whole sire of my children thing, but perhaps environment does triumph over breeding. I can certainly provide a proper environment for my children.


	7. Chapter 7

Redcliff wasn't nearly as bad as I had been dreading. I had hoped that the red came from blood. Cliffs dripping blood would be an excellent idea, but unfortunately it was the colour of the local mud. On our approach the baby templar told me what I already knew, he was the dead king's bastard brother. We then had a chat with his uncle, who was very attractive and quite assertive. Bann Teabag told us his squalid little village had been under attack by undead.

I retired to our camp for the night to mull things over. One of the peasants had insisted that they would likely all be killed if we left them alone. I saw this as being unduly optimistic. Mud people are unreasonably hardy. Happily, the churl was accurate. When we returned, everyone was dead. That simplified things immeasurably. The Circle taught us that undead are vulnerable to fire spells. I don't use my fire spells too much, cold suits me better, so I needed the practice. Killing them all was childishly simple.

Even better the bann showed a great deal of vitriol. He is just adorable. I want him very badly for my harem.

The only shock was encountering Jowls in the castle dungeon. I killed him of course. He had always been too weepy and he knew too much about me. Embrace your choices. Regret is for lesser beings.

As expected the arl's boy was possessed. I entered the Fade by using the arl's wife's blood (I love blood magic) and had an interesting and profitable discussion with the demon possessing the boy. It's very refreshing to have a rational discussion for once. The lyrium dust cured the Arl and off we go to Denerim. If Queen Anora is as good as everyone says, perhaps we can end all this foolishness with some personal negotiations.

Bann Tegrin had been controlled as well. He's cute and susceptible to blood magic. He just gets more and more delicious.

One side note that I haven't mentioned. Back in the forest we ran into trees that had been possessed by demons or spirits or what have you. So what you say? I know, I know, it doesn't seem very promising until you realize that they look like other trees. A fortress surrounded by groves of possessed apple trees? Whats not to like? What matters is whether or not their fruit is poisonous. One can only hope.

Allstar had a moment of backbone in the camp afterwards. He didn't much like how things went in Redcliffe. Which puts me in a ticklish spot. If I marry the baby bastard I could be Queen and rule directly. Anora would have to be handled, but that's easy enough. I have a pet bard and a pet assassin after all. That's why I keep them around. Loghead would also have to be dealt with, but if Bannister duels him, have to love primitive customs, it's pretty much a win win. If the templar wins, then he kills him. If the geezer wins, then he dies later on that night by the hands of either an Artesian or an Anticipation. Either way, Olay gets blamed.

My ideal situation would be to have the king's bastard brother marry Anora. Then I control them both. Not sure how that can work though, yet.


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Diary,

I know it's been a while, but here we are in Dungheap, or as the humans who infest the place call it, Denerim. I have to stuff my fist in my mouth every time one of the vermin calls it a city. If it sounds like I'm on my last nerve, I am.

Anora was a horrible disappointment. All the signs were there, but I was deluding myself that there was at least one semi rational person in power in this place. Words fail me, they truly do.

The ruler of this 'kingdom' is a pervert. We nip her kind in the bud back home and after speaking with her, the logic of it is all too plain. My mother's warnings were exactly on point. Anora is a daddy's girl, plain and simple. Of course she latched onto her father. Her mother was probably a daddy's girl as well. These things tend to run in the family. Which is why sensible mothers see to it their daughters don't know who their fathers are and execute the fool after he's served his purpose. No wonder the country is a dung heap what with men being allowed to have input on how to run things.

Males are here to procreate and fight. Once they are finished, then they are giant spider fodder. But of course, they don't have proper giant spiders here either. I hate this place.

Anora's perversion put me in a dilemma. I had planned that Templar boy would execute Daddy dearest, then Anora would marry him out of gratitude. Luckily I read her in the nick of time. I had to make a very quick decision about whether I wanted the old fool or the young fool as a puppet. Not a hard decision, I chose the young fool. Only to find out that I was unacceptable as a consort. Mother's training held. I did not butcher the entire meeting, tempting though that was. You don't waste battle fodder. They would be food for the darkspawn soon enough.

I killed Loghead myself, so that it was done properly. If I can't marry the blonde boy, then Anora should. They deserve each other. He will never be adequate in her eyes and with a little encouragement he'll be back with me. And if not, I have a bard and an assassin as bed mates.

I am going to hold out for a fortress when this is all over. In addition to the one with the blood mage. Something with lots of lackeys and income.

Oh, and I have a valuable contact with the local assassin's guild. Even better, the contact's brother sells the most interesting ingredients.

One final thing, I saw the single most indulgent piece of architectural design in the most unlikely place. Utterly impractical of course, but such a lovely idea! When we were slaughtering our way through the lord of Dungheap's palace I discovered he had a passage to his dungeon from his bedroom! Honestly, sometimes this place surprises even me. It would be lovely to nip downstairs for a relaxing bit of torture just before bed. Such a fun idea. But prisoners inevitably get free and then you've lost a good night's sleep. Far better to set them at a distance. Besides, walking is such good exercise.


End file.
